[esuemmanuel]

Déjame darte un consejo, no seas como yo; no sientas con el alma ni leas con el corazón; no escribas bajo la influencia de los sentimientos ni de la verdad que palpita en tus entrañas, porque, la gente... ésa que se atreve a mirarte, no lo entenderá y, aquellos que dicen que lo hacen, algún día, por lo mismo, se irán, diciendo que vales lo poco que das, que no eres lo que escribes, que mientes... y nada más. ¡No seas como yo jamás! No te partas el corazón con el cincel del amor que enmarca las palabras cuando se dan sin esperanza, tampoco transcribas los versos de tu alma ante los ojos prejuiciosos de los que señalan con el vilo de la envidia barata. Guárdate las manos, amárrate los dedos, muérdete la lengua y calla... ¡No seas como yo, camarada! Mejor llénate de pretensión, de ostentación, de realidades vacuas... y mata, así como son capaces de hacerlo los que desbaratan al que vuela por los aires cuando tiene fe en el alma; así serás capaz de ganarte sus favores y ser el héroe de sus sinsabores. No acabarás solo ni roído, como yo, por haber sido franco y haber amado con todo lo que el cielo te dio.

Let me give you some advice, do not be like me; do not feel with your soul or read with your heart; do not write under the influence of feelings or of the truth that beats in your guts, because people… those who dare to look at you, will not understand and those who say they do, one day, for the same reason, will leave, saying that you are worth the little you give, that you are not what you write, that you lie… and nothing more. Do not be like me ever! Do not break your heart with the chisel of love that frames the words when they are given without hope, nor transcribe the verses of your soul before the prejudiced eyes of those who point with the vile of cheap envy. Keep your hands to yourself, tie your fingers, bite your tongue and keep silent…. Don't be like me, comrade! Better fill yourself with pretension, with ostentation, with empty realities… and kill, just as those who thwart those who fly through the air when they have faith in their souls are capable of doing; thus you will be able to win their favors and be the hero of their sorrows. You will not end up alone or gnawed, like me, for having been frank and having loved with all that heaven gave you.

[thepersonalquotes]

[thepersonalquotes]

[lucisheart]

Siempre la segunda opción

Nunca la primera

Siempre se van

Y nunca se quedan

Pero lo veo

I see the way you laugh together

The way los secretos pasan por demedio

Las miradas from across the room

Lo veo

[lucisheart]

[lucisheart]

Why

they are overshadowed by unsaid questions.

[lucisheart]

it was all you

showing me what i wanted to see, telling me what i wanted to hear

and stopping once you had what you wanted

it was you

where i went wrong

it was you

[lucisheart]

. . .I pause. I stare. I smile. I pause. I stare. And I stare. And I stare. Because I don’t know how to respond. How to make you see that I want you too but I can’t have you not at this moment and I hate it. I hate me. Because you message and I smile. And we message and the smile is gone. . .

[lucisheart]

[drowningpoetry]

you know why i call myself a poet? because when everything comes crashing down on me and i am left beneath the rubble, the only way for me to stay breathing is to write about it. to write about the way the sky looks a little more grey than usual, the way that my hands cannot stop shaking no matter how many times i clench them into fists because even as steady things, they tremble. and so i write about it. when the first boy i loved ripped out my heart and squeezed all of the blood out from it and made me watch my very own destruction, i wrote about it. i wrote about the way he made me feel on fire and i loved it, even though i was scared of the flames because my house burnt down when i was five i loved it because it made me feel like home and how ironic is it that that i too, was burnt to the ground that just like my house, the sense of home that he had given me was burnt to the ground and for months after, i was left scavenging in the rubble, seeing if there was anything worth salvaging and i had yet to realize that i was the very thing worth saving but i stepped on my old bones, stomped on my body, crunched everything underneath my feet because i wanted nothing to do with my very own self so i sat down one night and wrote about it until 3am every line marked by my pen was met with a single tear, as i filled the paper with ink, my cheeks were flooded it was an ocean trickling off my face and landing on the paper i have yet to understand what i wrote because it is all smudged and the only word i could ever make out was, “him.” and i guess that made sense because that’s all i could ever seem to write about anyways but i could never talk about him even to this day my voice gets quiet and my body goes numb when i talk about him because there’s so much pain behind his name that i tell everyone not to mention it and i shut down because it hurts too much to speak about it so i write about it instead. when my parents would fight, their booming voices were so loud that it rattled the walls of my house. when this happened, i would put my head down and recite my very own poems to calm the uneasiness in my head, to slow down the succession of bullets that were grazing my skin and making me bleed my dad begged my mother not to leave that night and then she slammed the door so hard that i thought for sure she’d never come back and so i wrote about it. about the way that the door sounded like thunder and her drunken slurs reminded me of lightning, so electric. when they hit you, you could feel electricity coursing through your veins. she had a thunderstorm tongue, she could speak beautifully but you never wanted to stand too close because you knew that you would get obliterated entirely. one day she came to me for help and i told her, “write about it.” she asked me why you’d do such a thing and i replied, “because what else are you supposed to do when the words you’re yearning to say won’t come out of your mouth because your throat is lined in barbwire fence and every single word stings? — you write about it, so the pain eases up.”

[lucisheart]

The wait is over! Get your copy of Warrior now, and experience the Relentless trilogy like never before! http://thndr.me/nX1HTJ

[books-n-quotes]

They tell you you’ll forget how it used to be. You’ll get used to it, that it’s better to move on. They don’t realize you can’t. You’re not the same person anymore.

Amanda Sun, Ink

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(via books-n-quotes)

[lucisheart]

It wasn’t raining or about to rain, like in those movies, or cliche books. No. It was sunny like in Holes with just one little cloud, about to fade. The buring was over with, and it was time for the ‘sorry for your lost’, 'I’m here for anything’, 'don’t worry it’ll be over soon. 'It’ll all get better soon’. I don’t want to hear that it will get better soon. It will never get better. I’ll never get better. I’ll be okay, but not better. That’s life. Something terrible happens, and you won’t get better after or over time. You’ll be okay. Just okay. All that’ll run through your head; it’s okay. I’m okay. Completely okay.